The Attempted Capture of the Dragonborn
by Lenny the Wicked
Summary: The Dragonborn is captured by Stormcloaks. Briefly.


He stared at the sleeping Dragonborn. He hadn't bothered to gag him, though his guards had mentioned it would be wise. Better to give the elf a chance to speak for himself. Perhaps leak Imperial intelligence.

When the Altmer's eyes opened, he stared dimly at the Jarl.

Ulfric spoke first, curtly acknowledging, "Dragonborn."

The man laughed breathlessly, as though his ribs were broken. "Please, I'm starting to wonder if anyone knows my name. You can call me Wyl."

Ulfric had a mind to laugh, but he only smirked. The Dragonborn had been in his palace before – to help solve the case of Viola's "Butcher" and to inquire about the Greybeards. The poor boy was worried that they would ask him to become a monk.

Now, though, he supposed it couldn't be much worse.

"What is it you want, exactly?" Wyl asked dryly, raising a brow. "Hopefully not for me to join you. I don't have anything to say about Imperial plans either – they only tell me what _I_ need to do. Not what everyone else is doing."

Nodding gruffly, Ulfric answered, "I want you out of the way."

"Ah. Well, as you have clearly noticed, I do not require much space. Though elbow room is nice."

They were silent for a moment, the guard standing tensely in the corner while Ulfric hunched forward in his chair. The elf sat cross-legged, with his hands bound behind his back. Wyl shared the witch-like tendencies of the Thalmor – summoning daedra and weapons rather than carrying them. It was too dangerous to give him his hands.

"May I ask?" the elf began tentatively, waiting for Ulfric to wave his hand or nod. He obliged, and the elf spoke. "What is it you intend to do?"

Ulfric raised a brow.

"If you win. The Empire's currently acting as a buffer against the Thalmor," he said seriously. "I don't understand how you plan to handle it – or if you have a plan at all."

"It's none of your concern."

"It is. You intend to imprison me until the war is fought, yes?"

"Most likely, yes."

"In the event that you do, and you are beaten, General Tullius and his soldiers will continue to act as a buffer between Skyrim and the Thalmor. In the event that you are victorious, how will you prevent the Thalmor from invading as they have Valenwood?" he asked, straightening and slouching and generally attempting to find a comfortable position. By the end of his question, he had gone from sitting upright to leaning against the wall to lying on his stomach.

"I understand the question, Dragonborn—" the elf opened his mouth to protest, but Ulfric continued, "—Skyrim's forces will be sufficient to remove the existing Thalmor outposts – am I correct in assuming it was you who infiltrated their embassy?"

"You are – and please stop calling me that."

"Why support the Empire?"

Wyl grunted as he adjusted himself, pressing his side against the wall of his cell and pursing his lips. "I believe you said it yourself – 'We're done bleeding for an empire that won't bleed for us.' I don't intend to fight for people who believe I've no place in this province."

"The people of Skyrim would welcome you," Ulfric observed. "You're Dragonborn."

"I am also a mage, and an Altmer," he said. "And for the record, I could free myself far more easily than you're giving me credit for. If you really wanted to keep me imprisoned, you would have my tongue cut out."

Ulfric raised a brow. "Is that a suggestion?"

"Mara's Mercy, no!" he laughed. "Only an observation."

"I don't intend to stoop to Imperial levels. Once the war is over, you'll be released," he said calmly. "You wouldn't make it past my guards."

"I could," he laughed. He scratched his head.

Ulfric stared.

He scratched his head. His hands weren't tied anymore. He'd somehow slipped his hands through the chains – they were raw and a little bloody, but free nonetheless. "How did you do that?"

"It's hardly a party trick I'd like to repeat," Wyl muttered, grinning. "You didn't think I was rolling around on the floor because I enjoyed it, did you? It just kept you from watching my arms."

"Guards –"

"Oh is it really necessary? You and I both know I could blow this door off of its hinges, drown you and your men in flames, and waltz free of this prison without a care in the world. All tying me will do is force me to roll around like a wet dog."

The Jarl's eyes narrowed, and he waved his guard away. He hadn't really expected the Dragonborn to stay short of having his legs broken. And, given that the elf was the only person in Skyrim who could keep a dragon dead, he preferred to keep Wyl alive and well.

"Thank you."

"So, Dragonborn—"

"Wyl—"

"What exactly did you find in the Thalmor Embassy?"

"A lot of garbage," he said hurriedly. "Elenwen apparently shops at Radient Ramaint in Solitude…has no idea the girls who own that store hate the Thalmor as much as any of your rank…and the Thalmor are convinced the Blades had something to do with the dragons returning…even though there are two Blades in all of Skyrim. It's all nonsense." He paused, and then counted on his fingers some random thing which apparently amounted to seven, and then added, "And the Thalmor soldiers can't distinguish between a stray party guest and a Justiciar. I found some spare robes, threw them on, and ordered everyone to leave their post to chase down some "Talos worshipper" hiding in a waterlogged cave."

Ulfric bared his teeth unconsciously.

"Oh, don't worry, all they found was a mudcrab. And maybe a slaughterfish. And frostbite." He grinned mischievously. "They're not the brightest group."

Ulfric stood, and rolled his shoulders. "Well, Dragonborn, it's late. I'm going to get some rest. I suggest you do the same, and not try to escape."

"Ah, I can't very well oblige. Dragon threat and all that. I need to speak with Arngeir – been putting that off for months now."

"I won't release you," Ulfric said. "You'll have a handsome bounty on your head."

"As handsome as me?"

Silence, frowning, the elf shrugged and leaned against the wall.

"Very well. I suppose you must leave some funds for your war effort. _Feim Zii Gron_!"

And with that, the Elf was a ghost, able to slip through the gate and pass with a simple, happy wave. Ulfric watched, a big vein growing on his neck while the Altmer casually strolled past the flustered guards.

And, when he entered the main hall only to see a half-naked Galmar wielding a dusty battleaxe, he could have laughed.

And that was how the Dragonborn escaped a short, two day imprisonment.

000

Rikke stared at Wyl.

"I don't know if you're lying or stupid."

"Would you believe," Wyl asked, gesturing wildly, "Magic?!"

"Ah. Stupid then."


End file.
